Dental practices smell the same the world over.
Wendell Wilkins was sure of it. Whether it was the small practice of his youth, the one he'd worked in as a college student, or his own, here in Australia, they all had the same smell. It was that of metal, mint and rubber gloves.
Wendell quite liked it, to be honest. It was a clean and comfortable smell. But that didn't stop him from opening the window and allowing the sea breeze to blow in. It brought with it the scent of salt and the sound of laughter. Outside, he could see people riding the waves, even though it was early spring, and the air carried a slight chill.
Wendell loved that about Australia. No matter what the time, or the weather, people were always ready to go out and have a good time.
It was this undeniable spirit that had brought them there, of course. He and his wife had always been attracted to that Australian Spirit; strong and powerful, as free as the land it lives in. The way the people were comfortable in their own skin, and willing to enjoy themselves. It felt so different from England, with its miserable wet weather and stuffy buildings.
Wendell remembered when he'd first met Monica, back when he was just beginning to study dentistry himself. She was pretty and smart, and had a kind nature that appealed to him greatly. And, of course, she shared his love for the country down-under.
He could remember all the times they'd shared, discussing it. The memories seemed highlighted, stronger than all the rest, and the filled him with a contentment that Wendell knew came from the fulfillment of fate. Moments discussing Australia's culture, its animals, is geography….they'd always dreamed of visiting there. "Maybe, one day," he'd told her, "we'll go live there."
For years those dreams had been stashed away, hidden behind the worries and needs of everyday life. It had been just over a year ago when it had resurfaced, with full force. They suddenly decided to sell their home and practice in Britain, and move across the world, to live the life they'd always wanted.
And today, looking out the window at the beautiful coast stretching before him, Wendell didn't regret the choice in the least.
He was interrupted from his musings by a sound behind him. "Dr. Wilkins?" inquired Wendell's secretary. "There's a couple here to see you."
He turned around, grabbing his coat off the desk. "A couple? Do they have an appointment?"
The girl shook her head, black hair falling into her face. "No. I think they're tourists. Said it was an emergency."
Wendell nodded- they got tourists every so often. They came in for all sorts of things. Cavities, children with chipped teeth, accidents from various extreme sports…. "We can probably fit them in before our first appointment. Tell them I'll be there in a moment."
The girl exited. Wendell followed a few moments afterwards, having pulled on his coat, and promptly bumped into his wife. The apparatus in her hand fumbled, and nearly fell; they both caught it at the same time, gloved hands meeting.
"You should be more careful," Monica berated him, half joking. She was a pretty woman, despite the fact age was creeping up on her. She had straight brown hair, laced with a bit of grey and beautiful blue eyes that stunned Wendell to this day.
"It's your job to be careful," he told his wife with a smile. "Not mine. Oh, by the way- we have some surprise patients. Are either of the rooms ready?"
She nodded. "Just got room 1 all set up. I'll be in there in a few minutes; just have a few calls to make first."
She left; Wendell continued down the corridor into the waiting room. It was similar to the one they'd had in England, small and comfortable, with red carpet flooring and nice large armchairs to sit in. Two of them were now occupied by a young couple, about eighteen, maybe nineteen. They were probably taking a leap year before starting university.
The girl was short, with a head full of very bushy brown hair. Her face was pale, and she wore a nervous expression. Her hand was clenched around that of the boy in the chair besides her, a flaming red-head. Wendell's eyes locked on the entwined hands- the two were obviously together. A wave of protectiveness suddenly washed over him. Surely the boy was too old for her?
He shook himself mentally. This girl wasn't his daughter- it was no concern of his who she was dating. Besides, he had no reason to suspect this young man of anything. He looked like quite the decent fellow, actually.
"Hello," he greeted them cheerfully, although he still felt some anxiety towards the boy. "I'm Dr. Wilkins, one of the dentists here. I heard you had some trouble?"
The girl seemed too nervous to speak, so the boy spoke up for her. "Oh, yes…one of her teeth has been hurting a lot. We think it might be a- what do you call it? – a cavity." He spoke with a thick British accent, and Wendell could see why the secretary assumed they were tourists.
"Ah, no problem. I'll just take a look at it…..if you'll come with me." He waved them down the corridor, looking behind to make sure they were following. The boy was sticking very close to the girl, who looked faint. She obviously didn't like the dentists'. Throughout his career, Wendell had met many people who hated going to the dentist- just thought of it made them sick. They were creeped out by idea of people fiddling around in their mouths with strange instruments.
It was Wendell's job to reassure these people. However, it seemed the boy was doing that for him.
"Don't worry, you'll be fine," Wendell heard the boy whisper to her. "You've done harder things than this….."
Wendell came to the operating room, and fumbled with the door knob. The conversation behind him had a furtive quality, and felt almost private. He tried to ignore it, but felt strangely drawn in. "But what if I don't? What if something goes wrong? Fixing is so much harder than-", she broke off suddenly.
"Don't worry," said Wendell. "I've been a dentist for over twenty years. If you do have a cavity, I can fix it in a jiffy, no problem." He smiled reassuringly at the two of them, although the girl didn't seem much consoled. He waved them into the room with a comforting smile. "Now, would you mind lying down on the seat? I'll need to have a look at your teeth."
She obliged, easing herself into the chair. Wendell moved busily around her- adjusting the chair's height, fixing the light, moving some instruments into a more suitable position. As he worked, he kept up a constant chatter, designed to put the girl at ease. "So, what are you names again? I don't think I caught them….just lie back, thanks…."
"I'm Ron," said the boy slowly. He was standing behind the chair, his hand in his pocket. He spoke with a strange deliberation. "Ron Weasley."
There was a pause. Then the girl said, "I'm Hermione Granger."
There was a strange silence that seemed to fill the room. Wendell paused, mirror in hand. Something felt very….odd. He couldn't quite put a finger on it. He didn't like the feeling, though, so he so he quickly returned to business, filling up the awkward silence with his voice. "Hermione, eh? That's pretty unique name. It comes from Shakespeare, I guess? My wife and I are pretty big fans of his, you know."
"Yeah," came the girl's voice from behind him, sounding, if possible, even more nervous. "So are my parents."
Something seemed off, and Wendell turned around quickly. He found the girl standing up, staring at him. In her hand was a stick, long and polished, which she was pointed at him. His brow furrowed, a strange suspicion building up. "What are you doing? Where did you get that stick from?"
She continued to hold the stick up, pointed directly at his chest. There was an unfathomable expression on her face. While there was still nervousness, there was also a determined look in her brown eyes. Despite the fact that all she had on her was a stick, Wendell felt a tinge of fear. He took an involuntary step backwards. Something was wrong. "Can you put that down, please?"
She raised it higher, and opened her mouth. Wendell flinched. Some deep part of his mind knew that despite its appearances, that piece of wood was dangerous. It occurred to him that he should shout for help. But his throat was dry, his lips clamped together.
"Ron," said the girl, Hermione. "If he moves when the spell hits, I might make a mistake…could you…."
Wendell noticed that the boy, Ron, who he'd forgotten about, had moved to block the door. He barely register that he, too, was brandishing a stick, before he heard him mutter something. A flash of light erupted from the wand. The next moment, Wendell felt his body stiffen, paralyzed.
Cold fear rushed into Wendell's mind. Who were these people? They'd frozen him, made him immobile. Tales he'd heard of alien abductions ran into his mind. He'd always pushed them away as pure fantasy. But now, seeing this girl, approaching him slowly, with a horrible look in her eyes, Wendell felt sure that they were real, and these creatures were going to do something horrible to him.
Now she was right in front of him. Her eyes bored into his; they were chocolate brown, the same deep colour as his own. What a strange thing to notice, Wendell reflected hysterically, when you're about to die.
Because that was, surely, what was going to happen. These were serial killers, kidnappers, aliens, some horrible creatures. And they were going to kill him.
"Restituo Memoria!" shouted the girl, and the world dissolved around him.
Everything fell away, turning into blackness. He felt as though he was rushing forward at great speed. Strange colours floated across his vision….they were forming shapes…..he strained forward; trying to make them out…they seemed…familiar?
Suddenly, everything slid into focus. He was in a hospital.
This is one of those stories that float around my head, but I never actually get around to writing. Finally, though, I've got it all written out. Most of the other chapters are written, just in need of editing.
Also, for those who couldn't work it out, 'Restituo Memoria' is Latin for 'Restore Memories'.